An Infection of the Mind
by avanti90
Summary: The morning of the treason trial.


**An Infection of the Mind**

It was four in the morning when the comconsole buzzed, awakening Stefan in the middle of a delightful dream. He rolled over reluctantly and pulled his pillow over his ears, and then he caught sight of the Imperial Seal on the screen. He sat up at once, hitting the comm button. "Gregor, it's- hell, what's wrong?"

Gregor's face was even paler than usual, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes – red eyes, Stefan noted. Puffy red eyes. This could be bad.

"Stefan, I can't-" he swallowed. "I can't do it."

Stefan was abruptly wide awake. Oh no. Not now. The idiot would _not_ ruin everything by having an attack of common sense now. "Gregor," he said gently, "you don't have to do anything. The vote is sealed. All you have to do is abstain, which is what you normally do anyway." In this particular vote, Stefan knew, an abstension from the Emperor would be just as good as _guilty_.

Gregor clearly knew that too. "Stefan…"

"Gregor," he continued, "I know this is painful for you, but think. There are billions of people depending on you. If you let your sentiments get the better of you, if you let Lord Vorkosigan continue with his plan, how many will suffer as a result? Your people need you to do what is right for them, however much it hurts."

Gregor buried his head in his hands. "I just can't believe it," he whispered. "Why? Why did they do this? How could they do this? Aral held the throne for sixteen years, and in all that time he never…"

Stefan sighed. He had heard this question in different forms every day for the last month, since he had finally managed to break down Gregor's obstinate resistance. He gave the same answer as always. "Why bother, when he had it already? When he thought he could have it forever, with you as his puppet? But then you grew a mind of your own, and he decided that if he couldn't rule through you, he'd rule in spite of you." He gentled his tone. "I know this is hard for you, Gregor. I'm sorry. But power corrupts even the best of men." Stefan kept his eyes locked on Gregor's, putting as much intensity as he could into every word. He had long since understood that the trick to getting people to do what he wanted them to do was to give them exactly what they wanted. In Gregor's case, it had been absurdly easy. He hated to think that his Prime Minister was a better ruler, a better commander, and a better man than he was – probably, Stefan thought, looking at the helpless, faithless, confused boy on his screen, better than he ever would be. Of course it had been easy to convince him that his Prime Minister was _not_ a better man. It was what he wanted to believe.

What did Gregor want to believe in now? The loyal servant, he guessed. "Sire," he said softly. "I will obey your judgement in this, as in all things. If you wish me to withdraw the charges now, I will."

Gregor looked so tortured that for a moment Stefan almost felt guilty. "No," he said at last, and it took all of Stefan's willpower not to cheer. "No… we go ahead. I know we must, we have no choice, it's just-" Gregor tried to put on his stern-determined-Emperor look and failed even more miserably than he normally did.

Stefan nodded. "I understand, Gregor."

"Yes, you always do." Gregor sighed. "Thank you, Stefan. I'm sorry, I just needed someone to talk to, and… thank you. For everything. You've been – I would never have found out about this without your help, and I can't imagine what might have happened then. I owe you so much."

Now it was time to be the concerned friend. "I did my duty," Stefan said quietly. "But Gregor, please, get some sleep. You'll need all your strength for today."

"I don't think I can sleep. But… yes. I'll try." Of course he would try. Stefan had the idiot eating out of his hands. If he told Gregor to walk backwards across Vorbarr Sultana on one hand, Gregor would probably try. And believe it had been his own idea.

After Gregor cut the comm, Stefan couldn't get back to sleep. Instead he got up and went to his bedroom window, from where he could look out over Vorbarr Sultana. The city was beautiful in the early morning, the soft light sparkling off the towers in the distance. He could just make out the roof of Vorkosigan House, silhouetted against the rising sun. No one in that house would have slept tonight, he knew.

_He_ would not have slept tonight. Stefan almost laughed out loud, imagining what Vorkosigan's face must be like now. He must be sitting there in Vorkosigan House, desperately counting votes, wondering where all his allies had gone. Over the last few months, he had found a delightful hobby in watching Vorkosigan's expressions, every time he heard his son called a traitor, every time he lost an ally, every time he had to stand by in silence while Gregor ignored him, insulted him, even almost-openly accused him. Stefan had taken immense pleasure in every new line, every new grey hair, but all that was nothing compared to what would happen today.

His eyes went automatically to the portrait on the wall. The old man in green and silver uniform smiled down at him, as he did every morning.

Well, he was awake. He'd planned to do this just before leaving for Vorhartung Castle, but he might as well do it now. Stefan opened the drawer and removed the earthen bowl, the matches, the oil and the knife. He knelt down, placing the bowl on the floor below the portrait. He cut a piece of his dark hair and placed it in the lamp, then lit the flame as ceremonially as he could in this setting. He knelt there for a few minutes, head bowed, letting the offering burn to ash. Other sons lit their offerings on their fathers' birthdays, as was traditional. Stefan had always burned his offerings on the anniversary of his father's death. It was death that had to be remembered. Death that had to be avenged. Even the death of a traitor.

He stood up abruptly. No, he told himself harshly. Not a traitor. He was loyal, had always been loyal - what choice had he had, with Vordarian holding his family hostage in the capital? What kind of man could have let the wife he loved and the son he doted on die, when he could save their lives by one simple act?

What kind of man could fail to understand that?

Stefan clenched his fists at his side, trying to hold back the tears. He would _not _lose control now, not today. But once the memories came they wouldn't stop. They never did.

His mother had begged for mercy. She had taken Stefan with her for the audience – he didn't know why, possibly in the hope that the sight of the condemned man's child might move even the famously cold-blooded Lord Regent to mercy. If so, it had been useless. The Lord Regent had never had any mercy. Stefan remembered that hard, cold, ruthless face, that heart of stone. _Do you regret it now, Vorkosigan? Too late. _He remembered his father's death, slow and agonizing as he wasted away over two torturous weeks, a lord of the Vor chained to a pillar in a public square, helpless and humiliated like a wild animal.

Stefan had watched his mother weep, and sworn on his name's word – the first oath he had ever made - that the man who had signed the death warrant would pay for every single tear. Today was the day he would fulfil that vow at long last.

His eyes moved from the portrait to the clock above it. Six more hours to the vote. Six more hours, and then he could watch Vorkosigan again, cherish his expression as each guilty vote came down like a hammer-blow. Then the execution order would be signed and on its way to Tau Verde. And then… He clenched his fists by his side, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard they almost drew blood. _You will pay, Vorkosigan. I will make you watch, the way I watched. Every excruciating minute. I will make you weep the way she did. I will make you beg for mercy, like she did, and I will give you your own mercy in return._

And if Vorkosigan tried to stop it, it would be real treason, and then Stefan would get to watch Vorkosigan himself in the Great Square. That would be the most exquisite revenge of all. If that happened, Stefan would take photographs – no, Gregor wouldn't like that, he would have to pay someone else to take photographs. But he would have something to burn on his father's grave. Unless Vorkosigan decided to go all the way – no. The man wouldn't start a war, he was far too loyal to Barrayar, but more importantly, far too attached to Gregor. _Strike a man at his greatest weakness…_

But if he did, let him. Let him learn what it felt like to be on the losing side. Stefan closed his eyes and savored the thought. He had the Emperor on his side, Illyan in prison, a majority of the Counts… yes. Count Vorkosigan had lost.

The Countess, now… the Countess was a problem. She'd kept out of it so far – no doubt for some pathetically noble reason - was she trying to let Gregor grow up on his own? It would be so like the Vorkosigans, so honorable and predictable and obviously doomed to failure. But when he succeeded today, he had no doubt that the swordsticks would come out at last. Well, let her try. Attempted murder of a Count was another death penalty crime – oh, yes, let Vorkosigan watch _that_. Nevertheless, Stefan's eyes flicked to the locked drawer where he kept his needler. Perhaps it would be just as well to take precautions. After all, revenge would be worthless if he wasn't around to enjoy it.

And once his revenge was complete, he could move on to greater things. Vorkosigan would be forced out of the Prime Minister's office by nightfall, and then it would be so easy to make Gregor mistrust the entire Vorkosigan-appointed government. Yes, Gregor would need a new government by the end of the week. And a new Prime Minister, one he could trust. Vorkosigan's son, Vorkosigan's life, Vorkosigan's place… he could take everything. And then perhaps there would be a day when he would no longer need Gregor at all, and he could take the place Vorkosigan never would.

Stefan Vordrozda looked out at the dawn of his victory and smiled.


End file.
